


Insanity

by TheThirdGreywaren (ShelbyDraven)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, hello angst my old friend, like for real, seriously tho a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyDraven/pseuds/TheThirdGreywaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From his caring smile to his playful banter with his companions and everything in between, Fenris wanted to rip out his hair, because Hawke drove him insane.</p><p>There was also the teasing kisses and wry smiles, because Hawke knew it too.</p><p>(DA:I aftermath where my mage Everett Hawke was left in the Fade and news traveled to an elf waiting for his return.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Recently finished binge-playing the Dragon Age series, and the end of Inquisition crushed my heart. I left my Everett Hawke in the Fade because it seemed like a good idea I mean he is Hawke he must survive, right?  
> ...  
> Right?  
> Anyway, Varric mentioning telling Fenris made me think about Hawke's broody elf's reaction, and so in the early hours of the morning I wrote this all down, fell asleep at my desk, did a quick reread then posted, so errors might be expected.  
> Also I'm sorry.

Everett Hawke drove Fenris insane.

It was everything the man did, too. Or at least it seemed that way. From his caring smile to his playful banter with his companions and everything in between, Fenris wanted to rip out his hair, because Hawke drove him insane.

There was also the teasing kisses and wry smiles, because Hawke knew it too.

However, in the recent weeks, Fenris found himself longing to see Hawke again, to kiss the sly smile off his face, to do some teasing of his own, since it was long overdue. He had always hoped to return to their relatively small cabin and find Hawke there, alive and as amused as ever, a smile curling on his lips when he was caught under Fenris’s smoldering glare.

He had always hoped, and whenever he turned the corner where he could see the cabin from a high vantage point, he felt a building excitement. The high feeling the anticipation gave him left him with a hard fall, but the next day he would have a racing heartbeat just before their house came into view.

That morning, though, Fenris knew something was different. The dark feeling twisting his insides was slightly familiar from his time from running and hiding; it was the feeling of anger.

Fenris was angry.

He did not know why.

He tried to ignore the itching in his hands that came from wanting to smash something, and ate a small portion of his breakfast porridge, since he knew Everett could probably sense if Fenris didn’t eat, the damned apostate and his senses. His stomach churned and the forced breakfast did little to settle it, but he slipped on his armor anyway and slid his greatsword into the sheath on his back.

He had received information of a group of slavers camping just over the mountain, and he would rather travel and slaughter the bastards than anxiously pace the floor of the cabin and fret about Hawke, who was far away and far out of Fenris’s care at the moment.

Hopefully the apostate could survive one more day, right?

Fenris hoped so.

 

* * *

 

The slavers were quickly  found and subdued, or rather brutally murdered. Fenris freed the handful of terrified slaves, handing each of them a couple of silver coins, and sweeped the cave twice before deciding it was clean.

He had just exited the cave and stepped into the quickly-fading daylight when a figure further down the path caught his attention.

For a very brief moment, Fenris though it was Hawke, and his breath caught in his chest. When he took a step closer, he realized the truth; the figure was shorter, more lanky. It was a courier, and the young man looked Ferelden, prompting Fenris to consider Hawke with such a clean face and an innocent look in his eyes.

Fenris found that he couldn’t.

“I’m glad I found you, serah!” The courier panted, holding out a clean vanilla envelope with a startling bright red stamp, “An urgent message from Messere Tethras.”

Varric. Fenris was milding surprised his hand didn’t shake when he took the envelope, but he was more surprised when he didn’t rip into the letter immediately. After weeks of waiting, of wanting for a message, he found that he did not want to open it.

He had a very clear idea of what possibly waited for him.

He thanked the messenger and handed him a silver piece, and the young man was gone, heading towards another person with another message, and Fenris was struck with the foolish desire to hand the message back and pretend that he never got it.

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh at his sudden fear to remain unknowing, when just this morning, this afternoon, he craved nothing else but word about Hawke.

Fasta vaas, Hawke _was_ turning him insane.

Tucking the letter safely into the inside of his breastplate, Fenris began to return home, the letter burning a hole in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

It was nearly pitch dark when Fenris returned home.

He hated how when he reached the corner before seeing the cabin, the usual thrill of excitement that filled his veins was absent, as he did not even pretend to entertain the idea of Hawke being home.

Gritting his teeth, Fenris trudged the last few yards to the cabin and opened the door, the darkness within inviting him to fall into an empty bed and never wake up.

Instead, Fenris lit the lantern on the poor excuse of a table Hawke had scrounged and gently slid the letter from his breastplate. On the walk home, he had decided to strip off his armor before opening it, but now the wait seemed overwhelming, and Fenris tore the letter open, his fingers fumbling to take the delicate paper out without tearing holes into it with his gauntlets. His eyes were hungry for anything, and he scanned the paper, choosing to comprehend a few words in rapid reading instead of sitting down to painfully translate each letter.

It was not necessary for him to take the time, in the end. Only a handful of words stood out, but it was enough to piece together an answer of the question haunting Fenris for so long.

Blind anger exploded inside of his chest, and Fenris howled in anguish, throwing the offending letter away, wishing he could tear the words off the paper and snap them, ruin their meaning, because it did not seem possible, not Hawke, Hawke could not be gone.

Hawke was immortal, larger than life. He was a blinding sun and it seemed impossible that the Fade could rip Everett Hawke away and destroy him and be described in a few sentences on a blasted sheet of paper.

Clouded with anger and grief, Fenris continued to scream, pacing the room, kicking books - _why did he let Everett teach him to read?_ \- and papers out of his way, pencils scattering as he stomped by, reminding him of long sessions of painful writing lessons, learning his letters. He had learned to write his name first, and Hawke’s second. It was strange seeing his wobbly letters next to Hawke’s easy scrawl, the letters flowing easily from Hawke’s fingers compared to Fenris’s, although Hawke had assured him that soon Fenris could be writing novels, like Varric. Fenris had scoffed at that, but Hawke’s smile and words were sincere, and imagining the proximity of the moment brought Fenris stumbling to a stop.

He hated _everything_.

He hated Varric for bringing Hawke to Skyhold in the first place, and not being able to stop Hawke from going - or staying - in the Fade.

He hated the Inquisitor and the Inquisition, because it was their own damned cause so it should be their own damn problem, and they had no right to take Hawke away and lead him to an early demise, one that was probably painful and lonely.

He hated Hawke for playing the hero. He hated him because he had given Fenris a small, innocent smile to convince him to let Hawke leave for Skyhold alone, and Fenris could not resist. He hated him because Hawke swore to be careful, no matter what, and he _lied_. He hated him because he never said goodbye, he never said anything that Fenris had wanted to hear if Hawke was forced to die before him.

Most of all, Fenris hated - no, _loathed_ \- himself. He hated how he ruined everything, let himself lose everything he ever cared about. He hated how he crumbled under Hawke’s confident touches and impish smile and let himself believe Hawke would be fine for a mission in Skyhold. Hawke had insisted that Fenris stay, the threat of red lyrium poisoning Fenris a deep fear that showed on Hawke’s face, but now Fenris would risk becoming infected just to be next to Hawke, be there to protect the apostate that had trouble weaved into his smile.

Trouble followed Everett Hawke everywhere, and Fenris cursed himself for thinking that it wouldn’t follow him to the Inquisition.

Most of his anger dissolved after his screaming and pacing tantrum, and Fenris sank to his knees, dimly realizing the mess the cabin became. For a brief moment he imagined Hawke complaining about the mess, a smile in his eyes even if a mostly-false scowl decorated his face.

The realization that he would never see Hawke’s smile again smashed into him with a wave of grief, and Fenris began to sob, burying his face in his hands. He cried and cried, his shoulders slumping as the anger left them, his head growing heavy, his heart _aching_ fiercely.

It felt like eternity before his hands fell away from his face, tears refusing to surface any longer. It had been so very long since he cried - had he ever grieved like this? - and his throat burned with the promise of more sobs later into the night. Blinking away the remaining water in his eyes, Fenris found the tightly tied scrap of red around his wrist. He gently touched the fabric, memories of feverish touches and hungry kisses flooding him, unbidden. He untied the fabric - a shredded piece of Hawke’s destroyed favorite robe - and clutched onto it, the familiar feeling and meaning bringing a shred of comfort from a distant memory.

_“I am yours,” Fenris said, and Hawke smiled._

_“Only mine, I hope,” Hawke exaggerated a wink, and Fenris laughed quietly._

_“I assure you that - ” The rest of his sentence was swallowed by Hawke’s firm kiss, and Fenris moaned softly and returned the gesture just as fiercely._

_Hawke pulled away too soon, and gave Fenris an almost shy grin, “I am yours, too.”_

Now, left with only a piece of cloth to remind him of Hawke’s touch and words and smile, Fenris pressed it to his lips, closing his burning eyes.

“I am yours,” He muttered.

No one answered this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative ending to be added hopefully soon, because only so much angst can be handled.


End file.
